Sins That Haunt (6 page)

So they were looking for a bigger cut. Why didn't that surprise her? “And more you shall have,” she said, returning the pat to Molly's knee and wishing like hell she could be there when these two were arrested. “But JJ was their contact. I have a time and place, but I can't show up unannounced and without an introduction.”

“I only know how to call them because they keep calling us. I don't know who your father got mixed up with, but they don't sound like people you want angry. I'm surprised JJ trusted you with that much information when he wouldn't tell us a thing.” Luther sounded even more mistrustful than before.

“He had no choice,” Shannon did her best to assure him. “Not if he wanted my help. Now, shall we try to make some money?”

Luther exchanged smiles with his wife. “What do you need us to do?”

At last, what she'd come for. “Call them. Let them know who I am and that I'll be bringing them the buyers JJ told them about.”

“What if they say no?” Molly asked.

“Then we're dead in the water,” Shannon said. “All the work you guys have done will be for nothing. You've only seen a small chunk of the money JJ was making.” If that didn't tick them off, nothing would. JJ had told the feds exactly how much he'd given these two and it had been peanuts compared to what he'd been keeping for himself. Whoever was pulling JJ's strings had promised him a major cut.

“I knew he was holding out on us.” Luther began to pace.

JJ always held out on them. This wasn't the first time nor would it have been the last if JJ hadn't been killed. She'd been a kid and even she'd figured that one out. “Right. Then help me out so you can get paid. I was going to end it when I found out JJ was killed, but how do I explain JJ's murder to these . . . investors? I need to finish what I started without them getting cold feet. The meeting has to go the way JJ planned it so I can get on with my life in Vegas.”

“Yeah.” Luther laughed. “I guess there are plenty of suckers in a town like that.”

“Born every second,” Shannon said, grinning at the two in the room with her.

“Okay, good. When shall we call them?”

“Now. We don't want my contacts getting cold feet.” And she wanted to go home and forget she was ever in this house, with these people. It would take her a while to put Noah back in the box she never opened, but she would.

N
oah stood as the rest of the team sat around the conference table listening to Shannon, doing his best to appear relaxed. He had nothing to worry about. Should things go south a team was nearby, ready to pull Shannon out. So why did he feel like jumping out of his skin?

He listened as Luther readied to made the call. There was no turning back now. A part of him wished Shannon hadn't gone through with it. He hadn't told his team that of course. They'd think him insane. He
was
insane. Without this meeting, months of preparation would go down the drain, not to mention all the money sunk into the operation. It wasn't their fault JJ had gotten himself killed, but the team would have their balls handed to them if they didn't exhaust every avenue. And Shannon was an avenue;
the
avenue.

Luther had made the call. “Hey, this is Luther Keyes. Remember, I worked with JJ?”

Then there was silence as everyone exchanged curious glances. “Where the hell is the phone tap?” Noah asked no one in particular.

“I'm on it,” Damon said, rushing to pick up the other line in the room.

“Well, yes, I know, but his daughter is stepping into his shoes,” Luther was saying. “And between you and me, she's a hell of a lot smarter. It was her bringing in the
investors
for JJ. She works for an accounting company and has access to big players.”

“We'll have it in a few minutes,” Damon said, hanging up the phone.

“Might be too late by then.” Noah wasn't impressed.

“They can't work any faster.”

“Yes, sir,” Noah tuned in to hear Luther say. “She's right here.”

There was a pause before Shannon said, “Hello.”

They wanted to talk to her. His team leaned closer to the speaker, everyone as nervous as himself.

“Yes, that's right. JJ Lewis was my father. No,” she laughed, “I didn't kill him, nor do I know who did.”

Where the hell was that tap?

“Rumor has it,” she said “somebody's husband didn't appreciate his wife being coveted. But the police have no suspects. The morons might never find who took him out.”

Damon gave Noah a pointed stare. Noah shrugged. She had a reason to hate them. Or at least him.

“Thank you. I appreciate it, but JJ and I were more business associates than family.”

“Yes, am I to understand you were bringing him my overseas contacts?” said a man in a heavy Latino accent. Was it Miguel Santos?

Noah let out a loud breath, running his fingers through his hair. Thank God. They had sound back.

“Right again.”

“A meeting was scheduled,” the man said “but no one showed. We waited in that coffeehouse for thirty minutes. Patience, Ms. Lewis, is not something I'm known for.”

JJ hadn't screwed up. This was a test. And a scare tactic.

“I apologize,” Shannon said, cool and collected. “My father must have gotten it wrong. We were scheduled for tomorrow night at Capital Grille on Boylston.”

“My mistake. My associate confirmed it is as you say.”

“Oh, good. I would never want to keep you waiting.”

Noah was thankful when no one else picked up on her sarcasm. Over the years she'd appeared to have mastered the art. She'd always been good at dishing it out; now she'd gone pro. How else had she changed? And damn if he didn't like it.

“And who is the contact?”

“Now if I tell you that, what do you need me for?”

Atta girl
, but how he wished they didn't need her. If it were only as simple as showing up to the scheduled meeting, it could have worked. They might have taken them at face value. But odds were against that scenario. And the cartel wasn't going to chance giving their business to anyone who could land them in jail.

It had taken months of planning and putting people in the right places, but the agency was now in control of two very lucrative used car dealerships, the perfect
vehicle
to launder money. Cars would be purchased on paper for less, then the larger cash funds got channeled through many different bank accounts, not triggering alarms for the ten-thousand-dollar limits on deposits. If things went according to plan, he and Damon would agree to allow Santos to invest in the overseas plant, establish a relationship, and then introduce the possibility of expanding their business dealings in the United States. So far they'd tracked four dealerships laundering money for the cartel. When it was time to make the arrests, they'd be shut down and the owners would look at serious jail time. What they didn't have was a direct link to Santos himself, and this would be it. Taking Santos out would seriously cripple Casales's operation and, if they were lucky, they'd be able to make something stick to the man himself.

“You are as distrustful as your father, but fair enough,” said the contact, who had to be Santos.

“I'll make the intro. And if it proves as beneficial as I'm sure it will, I trust you'll wire my money? Who knows, I might have the opportunity to bring you more . . .
contacts
.”

“Keep us in mind, Ms. Lewis. I look forward to meeting you. Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night,” she agreed and disconnected the call.

At that, Noah left the room. The team would call him back should there be any new developments. And right now he didn't want any of them to pick up on how stressful that whole thing had been. He was a professional, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be on pins and needles, regretting that he'd led Shannon into the lion's den. She was a civilian. It was natural to be concerned about her. But it was more than that, and holy shit, he didn't like it.

The door opened and Damon came out. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” It was a stupid question. “I'm beat. If you guys have things covered, I think I'll head home and get some sleep.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

He nodded and turned to leave when Damon snagged his arm.

“Look, this is me. Remember, I know what she did to you. Our first year in college all you could talk about was the girl who stomped on your heart.”

Damn, he wished Damon had forgotten about that. “I was young. A dumbass kid from a small town.”

“Yes, yes, you were,” he said, slapping him on the back with a goofy grin. “But it doesn't change how you felt about her. Marie dumped me and married my best friend from grade school. But if she were meeting someone from a drug cartel, I'd be nervous too. And I saw Marie shopping the other day. I made the mistake of asking when her next baby was due.”

“She wasn't pregnant?”

“Nope. But no matter what she looks like, I'd still give a shit if I put her in danger. I saw the picture you used to keep in your wallet. Yours didn't fill out. She got hotter. It must have been strange seeing her again. I bet it brought up all kinds of shit.”

“Damon, next time you take a piss make sure you still have something to whip out. You're starting to sound an awful lot like a woman.” He shook his head and walked away.

“Hey,” he shouted after him, “I'm not ashamed of my feminine side. Chicks love it.”

He considered flipping him the bird but chose to ignore him instead. Truth was, the guy was right. It had been more than strange seeing her again. Maybe it was the guilt in knowing he was using her to get his promotion, or maybe it was nostalgia. Reminiscing for what had been.

He was a hometown boy, figuratively and now literally. His condo in the city made going to work easier, but on his days off he was back in Tweedsmuir restoring Reverend Hopewell's old Queen Anne. He hadn't believed his luck when the reverend had decided to move closer to his daughter, building a new church in Henderson, just outside of Vegas. Before the For Sale sign went up, Noah had bought it. The reverend and his wife didn't believe in luxury or extravagance. Their home had been simple and untouched since the fifties. He'd already redone the master bedroom, knocking out a wall into the fourth bedroom and adding a walk-in closet and master bath the size of Manhattan. His next project was gutting the kitchen, but it would have to wait. This case was his top priority.

By the time Noah got home he was dead on his feet, too tired to think, too tired to care. He entered his bedroom, stripped, and crawled into his bed, then flipped onto his back. He sighed, knowing he was going to regret it but did it anyway. Reaching to his right, he opened his nightstand drawer. He pulled out the picture, the edges worn, the colors faded. He stared at the two kids so in love, so fucking naïve. He tossed it back inside and slapped the drawer shut. Could he be more pathetic?

But he had to wonder. How much of Shannon's involvement had been for the sake of the case and how much for him? He'd agreed to be the one to contact Shannon. Was it as a way to punish her, to force her to go back to a town that represented a past she wanted nothing to do with? Or was it to get her to see what . . .
who
she left behind? Had he been secretly hoping to reignite those feelings?

He didn't love her. Not anymore. For years he'd chalked up his behavior to unresolved issues. He never got to say good-bye, never understood why she'd chosen to leave him behind. He hadn't had the same issues with Tweedsmuir she'd had, but for her, he'd have left. Hell, they'd discussed leaving—together. So he needed closure. Seeing her again brought all those emotions back to the surface, and as tomorrow might be the last day he'd ever see her—last day she'd ever let him see her—he'd better talk to her before dinner tomorrow night. It was time he ripped up that picture. One way or another he needed to close that chapter in his life.

* * *

Molly and Luther had invited Shannon to stay for dinner. And while a team of wild horses couldn't get her to eat with those two, her excuse had been legitimate. She was bone-tired. She'd barely made it back to the boardinghouse and up the flight of stairs when exhaustion threatened to knock her out on the spot. Problem was, her brain wasn't cooperating. Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling.

She'd convinced herself she could do what Noah wanted. Piece of cake. And yet seeing those two . . . lying . . . being back in this town. This was her stress before Maggie had bought Heart's Desire, before she'd convinced her best friend and the closest thing Shannon had to family, to take her sorry, counseling ass off the dangerous streets. It wasn't that helping prostitutes and runaway kids was a bad thing. It was that bad things happened to Maggie when she did.

But Maggie's life was good now. Christian would take care of her, keep her out of harm's way. Mostly. And it was the best Shannon could ask for where Maggie was concerned. Shannon was good too, Maggie's opinion to the contrary.
Huh
. If she were a spiteful woman, she'd call Maggie and let her know what Noah had done. That would fix her meddling. See how
she
liked staying up all night worrying about what crazy shit her friend was getting in to. But there was no need for both of them to lose sleep.

She sat up and punched her pillow, then rolled to her side. She'd closed the blinds, but her room faced east. The late afternoon sun wasn't cooperating. Her loft in Vegas had floor-to-ceiling windows, but her top-floor bedroom had none. Lights out meant just that. She flipped over, facing away from the sun streaming through the opaque blinds, reminding her she wasn't home but instead in the town she'd vowed never to return to.

It was that smarmy guy she'd talked to on the phone. The creep was the reason she couldn't sleep. He'd tried to stay one step ahead of her. Thank God she'd been prepared. But what had she gotten herself into? She and Maggie had one thing in common: They knew when trouble was coming. Only unlike Maggie, Shannon listened to her instincts. This evening hers were firing on all pistons. Just like the day she'd opened the door to William Wright, the serial killer stalking Maggie.

Great. She threw off the covers and stood. Now she'd have his ugly face in her head. She yanked off the T-shirt she'd put on to sleep and slipped her jeans and sweater back on. She was over having been trussed up and used as bait. In the long run everything had turned out fine. Wright was killed, Maggie got her man, and Shannon had survived with only a black eye and a few bruises and scratches. All good. She was over it.

She glanced around. Where the hell had she put her shoes? The room was too small for them to have gotten very far. But she had been half asleep when she'd walked in here. She found them by the tub, not having a clue how they'd gotten there. As much as she hated taking a chance on being recognized, she needed a walk. It was Saturday, bingo night at the church. She'd take the small path behind the boardinghouse to Memorial Park, the opposite direction from which everyone would be heading, and avoid the townspeople.

Noah had told her he loved her in that park.

She tossed her shoes back on the floor. Now what? Then she caught the aroma of fresh bread. The boys were cooking. Eldon had said something about Guinness stew. Back on went the shoes.

The front parlors had been converted into a dining room/restaurant. The sign outside read Open for Dinner, and while reservations were taken for staying guests, the public was welcome. One couple sat by the window. Still early, she assumed from the huge mess she'd seen in the kitchen, they expected to fill up.

“Are you joining us for dinner?” Josh came up behind her.

“If that's all right.” She could eat. You really didn't know how hungry you were until you smelled fresh bread and stewing meat.

He sat her at another table for two by the window. It afforded her a view of the street and gave enough time to escape back upstairs should someone, anyone, she didn't want to see show up. Giving her a menu, he poured a glass of water, letting her know he'd give her a few minutes.